Both of Me
by Menamebephil
Summary: An age-old problem for Teen Titans Fanfic- the discrepancy between Slade and Deathstroke. What follows is an attempt at reconciliation.
1. Go west, Young Man, Go West

**Both of Me.**

_Basically a series of Slade-Centric oneshots starting some time before season one (but after "GO!") and ending soon after "Things Change"._

"_**Journey with me, into the mind of a maniac, doomed to be a killer since I came out the nut-sack."**_

**Chapter One: Go West, Young Man, Go West.**

In a small apartment on the west side of Gotham, a man sat at a cramped desk, sword removed from his back and hung on the chair, handgun in front of him for easy access. Although he frowned, there was no one to see it, nor would anyone have seen it if there had. His eye widened when he heard the figure, but there was something that still gave him pause.

"What do you mean, 'Theatricality'?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was indistinct, almost certainly electronically altered.

"I mean I want them killed with _style_. None of your usual methods. This has to be grandiose. I want value for money, Deathstroke."

And they were offering a _lot_ of money.

Deathstroke was tempted. Batman had been on his case recently, and although the two were evenly matched, if the Caped Crusader got the drop on him, then it would all be over.

Besides, he'd had enough of the cold. It was time to head out west.

"Very well, I shall accept your offer."

The line went dead. The money would be in his account by morning. It always was. People sometimes complained about his insistence on being paid in advance, until they found out that Deathstroke _always_ delivered.

In truth, he was reluctant take this contract. His targets were a bunch of _children_. In fact, if it weren't for Grant-

If it weren't for Grant, then he would never even have _considered_ such a dishonourable hit. But, with the boy dead- killed trying to complete this contract- it was, in some twisted way, Deathstroke's responsibility.

He looked in a full-length mirror, and sighed. This look was too well-known, especially for the son of the Bat. He picked up the phone and dialled. It was time to get some new threads.

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Deathstroke shifted, trying to get used to the bulk of the costume. The armour was an improvement, but it meant sacrificing manoeuvrability. He strapped on his sword belt, and reached for the blade. As he was about to attach it to his back, he paused.

If Deathstroke had taken this contract, he would have broken into the targets' home in the dead of night, and delivered their heads to his employer in the morning. But that was not Slade's way. Slade smirked at the irony of his "new" name, and reviewed his new _modus operandi_. He would be a manipulator, a true Machiavelli, toying with his targets, putting them off guard as to his _true_ objective. In short, classic supervillain fare. Deathstroke would wear a blade- but Slade wouldn't.

His employer wanted 'Theatricality', and, as Deathstroke always delivered, so would Slade.

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The next morning, when Slade left for Jump City, California, Deathstroke stayed behind.

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_**This is the only way that I can think of that would reconcile Deathstroke with Slade. Tell me what you think, and follow me onward as we walk this twisted road.**_

_**Next up: Slade observes his new marks.**_


	2. Observations

"_**I've seen 'em come, I've watched 'em go  
Watched 'em rise, witnessed it and watched them blow  
Watched 'em all blossom and watched 'em grow."**_

**Chapter 2: Observations.**

Slade was installed in his new home, an abandoned clock tower. Wintergreen had yet to arrive, so he was forced to make his own tea. As he steeped the leaves, he pondered over what he knew about his targets.

Robin. As far as Slade could tell, this boy was the main threat. His combat skills alone were the stuff of legend, and they were combined with a powerful intuitive mind. However, as Slade had observed while the Boy had served under the Bat, he was reckless, and easily led. He had inherited his mentor's single-mindedness, but none of the man's self-control. Slade conjectured that stepping out from Batman's shadow for the first time and leading his own team could lead to undue pride, something Slade would be sure to bruise, but not shatter. With the correct…motivation…Slade could make the boy tear his team apart through sheer hubris.

"Cyborg" was easy to track. Victor Stone, potential Olympic Athlete. At least, until the accident. His outlook had changed. Inside that rough, tough exterior, Cyborg was really very insecure, especially about his "enhancements". Unable to think of any way to manipulate this, Slade filed it away for now. Cyborg would have to be distracted somehow.

"Beast Boy", the Titan without a secret identity. After all, how many people are fanged and green? His intellectual capacity seemed to be low, but the sheer _randomness_ of the child could cause trouble for even the best laid plans. However, the child was gullible in the extreme, it appeared, and rarely paid attention, even in battle.

In Slade's experience, those who let their mind wander seldom lived to correct their error.

The Alien. Slade had not learned her name yet, but resolved to correct that fault as soon as possible. As far as he could tell, her power was easily enough to defeat most of the Titan's adversaries solo, but she always held back. Maybe she feared her power? An interesting thought, but not particularly helpful. What _was_ helpful was the looks he had seen her give the Boy Wonder, and the way she affected him in a similar way. _That_ could be useful.

Deathstroke felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of manipulating love, but Slade quickly quashed these feelings. He had a job to do.

Finally Raven. The enigma, she had appeared out of nowhere, seeking the aid of the Justice League. She had been turned away, and a quick hack into the Justice League mainframe told Slade that one of the League's sorcerers had sensed a "great evil" from her. That could be interesting, and certainly explained his employer's gratuitous interest in her. At least, Deathstroke _hoped_ that was the reason…

Slade smiled to himself. Although four out of five Titans showed no particular promise, Robin was the perfect candidate for his twisted little game. With just a _nudge_ in the right direction, Robin could be manipulated into breaking his team apart. Slade finished his tea, and stepped out into the world. Time for a little reading. That run down library in the slums seemed just the place for something a bit…_occult_.

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_**Please note that Slade has only seen the Titans a few times at this point, and would be prone to errors in his assessment of them. This will change soon enough. And no, I **_**won't**_** be recounting every single moment with Slade. Just the better ones.**_

_**Next time, on "Both of Me": Slade and Red X. Ooh, Drama.**_


	3. Trust

"_**B.G. 'cause you lost all your homie's love  
Now call it what you want to  
You fucked wit me, now it's a must that I fuck with you"**_

**Chapter 3: Trust.**

Slade mused over a fine bone china cup. He had sent his robots- courtesy of LexCorp Robotics Division (not that they knew that, of course) - to retrieve a computer chip that would be instrumental in his rapidly evolving plan. His idea was to construct a chroniton detonator- it was theoretically possible, and he had enough chronitons to hypothetically freeze-frame the entire state if he wanted, but such a device required certain components deep in the vaults of S.T.A.R. labs. Of course, the Titans had been there to stop them.

What surprised Slade was the fact that the Titans _had _stopped him. It was time for a new track. He was interrupted by a video call, from an untraced source. Warily, he opened the screen to see a skulled face with what looked like a stylised scar across his face. Odd.

"Rumour has it you're interested in this." The figure brandished the very chip his minions had failed to commandeer.

"I'm interested in a many things, Mr.?"

"X. Red X." _Ooh, original._ Slade thought to himself.

"Hmm, catchy." No need to be rude, just because the man- boy, by his build- had no imagination. "So, are you planning a sale, or a gift?"

"A partnership. I give you the chip; you cut me in on your plans."

"Partnership? My my, we are ambitious." _Not to mention suspicious. Undercover cops are more discreet than this. _"But an alliance cannot be forged from one small chip. If you're going to win my trust, I'll require more."

"Just tell me what you want."

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Slade ran the tape again. Electronically altered voice, but not well enough. He transferred the file into audio only, and filtered it. Bingo. The filters wouldn't work on the more sophisticated voice scramblers, like the one his employer had used, but they should be more than enough for this.

As the computer ran its scan, Slade thought about his mysterious burglar. Appeared out of nowhere, showed _exceptional_ skill with martial arts, defeated the conspicuously-leaderless Titans by exploiting their hidden weaknesses- so far, not unlike what Slade himself had planned, although he was more interested in the psychological. As the cogs in his brain began to turn, a thought occurred to him. Whoever this "X", was, he showed an inconspicuous interest in Slade's plans, not unlike-

The computer beeped, signalling the completion of its task. Slade pressed "Play", and when he heard the voice he burst out laughing.

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Slade retreated into the shadows of his lair, and tore off his mask. Gulping down air, he nonetheless let out a satisfied smirk. The amount that his rooftop duel with Robin had taken out of him had reinforced the germ of an idea that had planted itself some days before, when he had unmasked "Red X". Robin had already shown that he couldn't trust his teammates, and was perfectly willing to harm them in pursuit of his goals. Excellent.

After all, what could be more 'Theatrical' then having the Boy Wonder destroy his own team?

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_**Okay, this one's a little shorter. I would think that Slade didn't get the whole 'Apprentice' idea until "Masks", so this is what came of it.**_

_**Next up: Creepy surrogate fathers in the Apprentice Saga!**_


	4. Father Figure

"_**44 reasons come to mind  
Why you motherfucking brothers hard to find.  
He be walkin' on the streets and fuckin' with mine.  
Stupid punk can't fuck with a mastermind."**_

**Chapter 4: Father Figure.**

Slade watched the cameras with interest, as Robin battled his former comrades. He frowned at the boy's hesitation to use his new weapon, but he eventually saw reason. To Slade's disappointment, the girl survived the blast, but Robin made his escape without a hitch.

Now that the stage was set, Slade began to ponder the particulars. How was he to get Robin to kill his teammates? In a flash, inspiration struck. All he had to do was make a few…"improvements" to the new laser Robin had, to turn it from non-lethal to very, very lethal indeed. The more he thought about it, the better the plan seemed- Robin had noted that the laser only incapacitated his friend, and so would have no problem using it again…

Only one thing bothered him. When Slade had pointed out the target for Robin's first official foray into the world of supervillainy, the boy had been unable to mask a shudder. Wayne Enterprises. What was the connection between a wealthy playboy and the Boy Wonder? Maybe it was coincidence.

Slade didn't believe in coincidence. Using all of his astonishing brainpower, he pondered the enigma of Bruce Wayne. He had never met the man in person, but his life was well documented by the news. Disappeared when he was seventeen, only to come back twenty years ago.

The same time the Batman made his debut…

Lived a reclusive life, attending several formal functions, but often leaving early.

Usually on nights that the Batman prowled…

Adopted a total of three sons, and a daughter.

To date there had been three Robins, and two Batgirls.

Slade was struck by the feeling that he may just have made a _very_ big mistake. When Wayne got news of the robbery- in less than 24 hours, probably, then he would most definitely take a trip to Jump to inspect the facility.

And where Wayne went, the Batman would surely follow.

Oh shit.

Any _normal_ supervillain would have been delighted to discover the secret identity of a superhero as prestigious as the Batman- but Slade was no ordinary supervillain. He wasn't being paid to kill the Batman, and he loathed killing people he wasn't paid for.

So. Now he had a problem. How was he going to deal with it?

Today was Saturday. 10:37pm. If he was lucky, then Wayne wouldn't be informed of the break-in until Monday morning. That meant he had to complete his contract within a much more constrained time frame than he had originally allowed for, and escape without leaving enough clues for the Batman to follow. This would be hard.

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_**I know that quote doesn't have much relevance to the chapter- I'm trying, damnit, but Dre didn't write much on the subject of surrogate fathers. **_

_**Anyhoo, next time, we learn why in hell's name Slade let the Titans go when he'd infected them all. And yes, there is a reason.**_


	5. Honourable Mistake

"_**Laugh now but cry much later."**_

**Chapter 5: Honourable Mistake.**

"And I know how you _hate_ to lose."

Underneath his mask, Slade grinned. The boy still believed that 'Apprentice' crap. Maybe, if the assassin trade ceased to be profitable, then a career on the stage could beckon. All he had to do was keep his thumb on this button for a few more seconds, and then his contract would be complete. It was almost too easy.

After another moment, he began to doubt this course of action. The Titans had proved to be worthy adversaries, far more powerful and resourceful than he could ever have expected, and now they were going to die.

Well, that _was_ his job.

But the doubts grew. Slade had trapped his enemies, manipulated and deceived them to the extent that they didn't know up from down any more, and now they were all going to die.

And all Slade was doing was pushing a button. It was almost pathetic.

Deathstroke had never killed anyone with such ease. Even when he had accepted contracts on "civilian" targets- mob bosses, corrupt politicians, and so on- he had had a harder time than this. Superheroes had always been worthy of his blade, at least.

Deathstroke would never have killed them like this. Any opponents that had proved so resilient would have had the honour of a fair fight, at least. He remembered an old target, from about ten years ago. The man had been an expert in martial arts, and Deathstroke had done him the honour of fighting him unarmed. That fight had taught him a lot- such as the fact that playing possum works well against arrogant men. How much would he have learned if he had killed _that_ one with the push of a button?

Slade frowned. His enemies were dying in front of him. His contract was seconds from completion. Why all this doubt?

Slade knew the reason why.

It was a question of honour.

As he stared at Robin- the opponent who had proven more dangerous than Slade could ever have guessed- he decided that the boy had earned a more dramatic end than ignobly dying like this.

And he was still standing, despite the incredible pain of his veins being slowly shredded. _That_, if nothing else, deserved respect.

And respect deserved honour.

With a sudden jerk, Deathstroke tore the device from his arm and threw it to the floor. Most of him was crying out that he was making a terrible mistake, quoting one of his maxims- 'Victors do not spurn opportunity'- but he didn't care in that moment. There would be another time. That he was sure of.

After all, it wasn't like he was going anywhere.

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_**Yes, this is the best explanation for an illogical action that crosses the boundary into just plain stupid when my sub-plot is taken into consideration. **__**I realise I'm not doing much action in this story, but then again that's not the point. You all already know what Slade does in the show; I'm just trying to say **_**why**__

_**Next up, the Apprentice, Mk II.**_


	6. Hunted

"_**I moved out of the hood for good, you blame me?  
Niggas ain't made me if niggas they can't be.  
But niggas can't hit niggas they can't see.  
I'm out of sight, now I'm out of they dang reach."**_

**Chapter 6: Hunted.**

It had been four days, and five nights. Four days and five nights since his ill-fated attempt to complete his contract. Four days and four nights since the thrice-accursed Bruce Wayne had flown in to inspect the break-in, and three days and three nights of no sleep, no food and no shelter. Over the course of those three days and three nights he had faced off against the Batman a total of six times, and each time it had come off worse for the cyclopean assassin. He knew that Wayne was on a time constraint- Bruce Wayne could only remain in the city for three weeks at most before he became an object of undue attention, and with _that_ kind of heat, he would be forced to flee back to Gotham.

Yes, Slade loved an independent press.

Slade slowly crept through the deluge, heading to one of his emergency safehouses. There, if nothing else, he could pick up some food. However, his alert senses told him that he was not alone. Spinning quickly, Slade saw nothing. But he knew better than to assume that that meant that there was nobody there. Drawing a handful of smoke bombs, Slade looked warily around. Suddenly his arm was grabbed from an alleyway, forcing him to drop his smoke pellets. Cursing silently, Slade twisted, freeing himself from his assailant's grip, but nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process. Thinking quickly, Slade brought his boot down on the discarded smoke bombs, and took advantage of his foe's blindness by vaulting up the fire exit.

Smashing a window, Slade looked around the dingy, one-room apartment. Seeing what he had come for, Slade snatched up a small waterproof bag, and took to the hills. Literally.

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Slade smirked as he surveyed his temporary home, a small cave in a canyon south of Jump. All he had to do was survive a few weeks. Just until the Batman went slinking back to Gotham. He unpacked. One kerosene lamp. Four weeks worth of US military issue rations- Slade gave an involuntary shudder at the thought; after all, he could barely stomach the things when they had been all he had eaten three times a day- one lightweight blanket, and a book. _The Big Sleep_. He had always had a weakness for thriller novels. He arranged his sparse furniture, and gave a satisfied nod. He'd lived in worse conditions than this, and for longer too. With nothing left to do, he settled in to wait.

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One morning, as his self-imposed exile was drawing to a close, he heard a rumbling in the canyon. Peering out of the mouth of his cave, he saw something that made him blink. (Well, wink, if you want to be _picky_). A young blonde girl being chased by a giant scorpion.

_And just as I was beginning to tire of Chandler._

As he watched, he noticed the Titans preparing to step in. Slade was about to lose interest- he knew the drill: Titans kill monster, girl swoons, Titans go for pizza. However, he didn't expect the earth to move, crushing the scorpion before the Titans could do anything. Surprised, he saw that the young girl was the result of this geological phenomenon. He sighed as she introduced herself to the Titans, but was suddenly struck with an idea.

_After all, the Apprentice plan was certainly 'Theatrical' enough…_

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_**Woot! Go Terra!**_

_**I have some interesting ideas for how this one's gonna play out.**_

_**Next time: Slade learns the joys of mining.**_


	7. A Heart Full of Terra

**Chapter**** 7: A Heart Full of Terra.**

"_**I'm in a murderous mindsate  
With a heart full of terror  
I see the devil in the mirror"**_

The choice of a mine had been an obvious one for Slade to implement his plan. If the geomancer was as unstable as he hoped, then any slip up of her control would be exacerbated by the surroundings. With that in mind, he'd sent several of his commandoes to cause havoc, and he'd accompanied them. He watched his target, noting her nervousness, and almost neurotic need for approval. Excellent. Inspiration struck, and he allowed her to see her, before running down a side tunnel.

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Safe in his lair, Slade watched Terra from a hidden camera drone, flying somewhere above her, no larger than a wasp. He smiled as he noticed her withdrawn state. A few more conversations with her, and she'd believe everything he told her…

What happened next surpassed his wildest expectations. She _ran away of her own accord_.

Oh, Robin. Too clever for your own good, are we?

Slade grabbed his bag, and walked out of the door. It was time to hit the road.

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Slade peered from the shadows, his eye fixed on the girl huddled in the cave, her knees level with her eyes. She peered out into the blackness, in abject terror of something. Normally, Slade would have appeared behind her, with a swift and silent advance, but that would not do here. No, he had to appear non-threatening.

Not something he was very good at, he admitted, but he would try his best.

As he made his way up the hill, making no effort to disguise his movements, and indeed exaggerating them, the girl screamed, and hurled rocks at him. He effortlessly blocked them, and began his recruitment drive.

"I told you."

No answer but a hail of rocks.

"Robin would never accept you."

The rocks were smaller now, more like pebbles.

"Who was it that told? Beast Boy?"

The hail had been reduced to a smattering of dirt, and ceased completely as she broke down in sobs.

"I can give you control, Terra. Trust me, and you will find your strength grows exponentially. All I ask in return is one favour."

The girl was so distraught that she didn't even ask what she would be required to do, and simply nodded.

"Come then," Slade said in the kindest tone he could manage "let's get you somewhere warm."

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It had been six weeks, and Terra was proving the ideal student. Under Slade's tuition, she was now able to almost fully control her powers, and her health had improved. She was still thin, it was true, but at least she didn't look half dead. However, he was faced with a problem. With the return of her health, her faculties had returned as well, and she was beginning to question what exactly he wanted from her.

Although he had begun to turn her against the Titans, she wasn't ready to hear that their destruction was his ultimate goal. Quite apart from anything else, her more…psychotic…mood swings would never accept such a modest goal. And so, Slade had claimed a far more believable one: World Domination.

It was ingenious, as excuses went. He would claim that the Titans were an obstacle, and would need to be removed. Once that was complete, they would take over the city, and from there the world.

Slade did not need to point out the idiocy of the plan. Even supposing he accomplished such a grandiose goal, what then? Running a planet would be an organisational nightmare. Oh well, it wasn't like he was actually going to _implement_ the plan. After the Titans were killed, Terra herself would simply have a tragic "accident." It would require a lot more robots, but what of it? It wasn't like he was paying for them.

Slade activated the intercom, projecting his honeyed tones around his lair.

"Apprentice. It is time."

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_**Seriously, w**__**hat is it with supervillains and world domination? What kind of fun would that be? You'd have to work nearly 24/7, and if-when, more like- anything went wrong, it'd be **_**your**_** ass on the line. And what of underground resistance? How would the Brain, for example, deal with a revolutionary group led by the Justice League? Oh well, they're all insane anyway. So that explains everything.**_


	8. Power Play

**Chapter 8: Power Play.**

**Okay. A word of warning. This is going to be comic-accurate. To those that don't know, it means Slade/Terra. Creepy as hell.**

"_**I just wanna fuck bad bitches  
All them nights I never had bitches  
Now I'm all up in that ass bitches  
Mad at 'cha boyfriend, aint 'cha?"**_

It was all about control. Slade knew that Terra was emotionally unstable, that one kind word and she was yours.

Slade didn't know many kind words, so the Titans had the advantage over him there. However, he had something else that the Titans couldn't- wouldn't- give.

"Do you love me, master?"

Slade turned, and honeyed lies slipped from his tongue, as always. He put his hand on her shoulder, and felt her shiver through the material of his gloves. His one eye remained impassive, but the mind behind it blazed.

She _lived_ for acceptance. She wasn't strong. She couldn't _bear_ the thought of cruel words, that someone might dislike her. Give her a compliment and she would love you for a minute. However, she had an addictive personality. Soon compliments alone weren't enough. Her constant desire for escalation led inexorably to _this_.

His hands stroked her, and as his baleful gaze fell over her body, he reminded himself that it was all about control.

And Slade knew _all_ about control.

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_**Yeah, it's really short, but I figured you didn't need to see a full chapter's worth of paedophilia. Remember, kids, stay away from paedophiles. And if anyone objects to this kind of horrible, twisted thing, A: I'm kind of on your side, really, and B: I'm trying to remain as comic-accurate as I can. Even though there's nothing **_**remotely**_** comical about this scene.**_

_**I'll have the next one up within a few days, or maybe sooner.**_


	9. Vesuvius

**Chapter 9: Vesuvius.**

"_**Huh, I ca**__**n't live my life on broke no mo'  
And most of these fools ain't shit but cutthroats  
They smile in a nigga face - and for what?"**_

Slade watched his protégé over his steepled fingers. He had suppressed the urge to smile at the news of the Titans' destruction, and curbed his enthusiasm. It paid to be sure.

"Patrol. We must be sure the city is secure."

As Terra floated away, Slade opened a file on his computer, specifically the manual override for the battalion that Terra was commanding. Once she was settled in her routine, secure in her triumph, 'her' soldiers would turn on her. Slade was taking no chances, as Terra was a dangerous fighter, and the element of surprise was crucial.

All this was forgotten, as the robots picked up four figures moving through the fog, and registered them as Titans. Scowling, Slade ordered his army to hang back, and allowed Terra to fight them. If they killed each other, well, that would be the ideal outcome.

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Slade boiled with rage, as Terra gave her stumbling report. She had been unceremoniously defeated, and fled with her tail between her legs. All to save her hide, which went against all his plans. Trembling with frustration as his carefully constructed plan shattered around him, Slade loomed over his cowering apprentice, and vented his anger.

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"It'll be the last thing you ever do."

Slade frowned at this. From what he had found out about the girl, Raven was from the dimension of Azerath, notorious pacifists. For her to threaten Terra with death was…uncharacteristic, to say the least.

Slade was lost in the implications of this comment, when he really should have been paying attention to his traitorous apprentice. This cost him, as he was unprepared when she launched her bolt of rock straight at him, and he barely got out of the way in time. Silently cursing, he leapt high into the rafters of his base. Followed by Terra, with a familiarly psychotic look in her eyes.

"You ungrateful little-" Slade leapt at Terra, only to find himself on a platform of rock, floating high into the shadows. Disoriented by this, there was little he could do to prevent Terra hurling rocks at him, driving him back into the lava below.

With surprising presence of mind, Slade gripped an outcrop of rock, and flipped back onto land, right in front of a horrified Terra. A powerful blow sent her spinning backwards.

_It ends now, you duplicitous bitch_, Slade thought, but remained silent. There were children in the vicinity, after all.

Gripping Terra by the throat, Slade's free hand reached for a hidden dagger, but stopped when Terra started to speak.

"You…can't…control me any more!" Her hair flowed in an ethereal wind, and her eyes flashed gold.

And Slade's world exploded.

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_**Well, that was little more than an episode rewrite.**_

_**Next time: Slade's mysterious employer unmasked!**_


	10. DIY

**Chapter 10: D.I.Y.**

"_**I'm hot like lava  
You got a problem?  
I got a problem solver  
And his name is revolver"**_

The figure, a stately gentleman of about sixty, rustled his newspaper as he sipped his morning coffee. He felt the urge to swear as he read the headline, but suppressed it. He had anticipated complications when he had called the man, but for him to end up _dead_…well, professionalism wasn't what it used to be, clearly. Throwing the newspaper aside, he walked to his training room. He always felt that his mind worked best after exercise.

He stepped into the dojo, and called up the sparring program. He fought with a style he had created himself, graceful yet controlled. Each punch was perfectly placed to do the maximum damage with minimum exertion in the minimum time, and each evasion was calculated to bring him out of danger the quickest and easiest way possible, without putting himself into an unfavourable position. As far as he knew, only he could fight like this. It took a _phenomenal_ amount of concentration, coupled with an analytical mind of extraordinary power. Two traits the man possessed in abundance.

As he fought, he reviewed his situation. The Titans lived, despite being hunted by the deadliest assassin in known history. _Perhaps I shouldn't have insisted on dramatics_, he mused, but quickly shook his head. If it had been Deathstroke that had killed the Titans, then Batman would have found the man, and through him, the thrice-accursed vigilante would have come a-knocking on _his_ door.

Or roof. Or window.

So, Slade was dead, and after all the trouble he had gone to, as well, pumping the Ravager full of those performance-enhancing drugs that were just a _little _too potent, all to snare Deathstroke. His Church had dwindled, until it was just a handful of devoted lunatics, as opposed to what it had been sixteen years ago- a group of well organised, hard working, devoted lunatics. His funds had dwindled, exhausted on Deathstroke's exorbitant fee. All he had left were his gifts. He needed more.

As he looked back at the newspaper, which he had placed on a stack, ready for recycling, a back issue caught his eye. The headline screamed: "H.I.V.E. Students Cause Panic in Central Jump."

Brother Blood smiled, as he picked up the newspaper. It was like they always said: if you want something done properly, you have to do it yourself.

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_**Anyone who's read any Discworld will recognise the guest star of the next chapter. I don't own him, by the way.**_


	11. Dance in the Pale Moonlight

_**Anyone who's read any Discworld will recognise the guest star of the next chapter. I don't own him, by the way.**_

**Chapter 11: Dance in the Pale Moonlight.**

When Slade opened his eye, he saw grey sand. As he lifted himself off the floor, he found himself on a plain that stretched to the horizon, and likely beyond. He looked up, and saw no stars, only a moon suspended in the blackness. He spun around at the crunch that announced a prescence.

For the first time in his life, Slade felt overmatched. The figure was tall, easily over seven feet, and chips of blue ice were embedded into eye sockets that burned him. When he spoke, he heard no words, but the figure's voice burned directly into his brain.

SLADE WILSON, FIFTY FOUR YEARS, FOUR MONTHS, TWO WEEKS, ONE DAY, ELEVEN HOURS, FIFTEEN MINUTES, SEVENTEEN SECONDS, AND FORTY-EIGHT MILISECONDS OLD AT TIME OF PASSING. APPROXIMATLEY.

Death produced a large tome, embossed with the omega symbol in dark grey metal.

CAUSE OF DEATH: A 187; 'BEING HURLED INTO LAVA BY A BLONDE'.

"Only 187th?"

IT HAPPENS MORE OFTEN THAN YOU'D THINK.

Slade stared at Death, refusing to show fear. "So, this is it, is it?"

YES.

"Are you quite sure?"

Death sighed. MR. WILSON, EMPTY BRAVADO WILL NOT HELP YOU, I'M AFRAID. YOU CERTAINLY LED ME A MERRY DANCE, AS YOUR ILK ALWAYS DO, AND FOR THAT I COMMEND YOU, BUT IT IS OVER. TIME TO GO HOME. Death was suddenly cut off by a voice that Slade could not hear.

I DON'T THINK SO.

This time Slade heard a murmur in response, but couldn't understand the words.

NO, MR. TRIGON. JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE TECHNICALLY IMMORTAL, OR ALREADY DEAD, OR WHATEVER YOU ARE, THAT DOESN'T GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO-

This time a deep rumble could be heard, with the word "prophecy" intelligible.

YES, I KNOW YOU ARE FATED TO RETURN AND ALL THAT, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN THE WORLD ACTUALLY _IS_ GOING TO END, JUST BECAUSE YOU SAY SO.

The prescence seemed put out by this.

LOOK. IT IS PROPHESISED THAT YOU WILL ARRIVE. THAT MUCH I CAN BEAR. BUT YOUR INSISTANCE THAT THIS WILL _AUTOMATICALLY_ END THE WORLD I FIND RATHER ARROGANT AND PRESUMPTUOUS OF YOU.

A rebuttal, in a language Slade couldn't understand.

I DON'T APPRECIATE THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. LOOK, LET'S WORK WITH YOUR PRESUMPTION THAT YOUR ARRIVAL WILL END THE WORLD. I HAVE HERE MY SCHEDULE. Here Death pulled out of nowhere a second large tome, this time bound in black leather. I SUBMIT TO YOU, IF YOU END ALL LIFE _HERE_, Death pointed to a specific page THEN HOW IS IT THAT I HAVE APPOINTMENTS SCHEDULED FOR SEVERAL YEARS AFTER THAT POINT?

A pause from the prescence, which Slade was quick to use to interject.

"Excuse me, but may I inquire what is going on?"

Death seemed to remember his client. AH, MR. WILSON. I HAVE BEEN CONTACTED BY AN INTERDIMENTIONAL DEMON BY THE NAME OF TRIGON "THE TERRIBLE". HE HAS ASKED THAT YOU BECOME HIS VASSAL ON EARTH, IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR SOUL.

"What would that entail?"

YOU WOULD BE GRANTED POWER, BUT WOULD REMAIN INCOMPLETE. IF YOUR ENDEAVOUR IS SUCCESSFUL, THEN HE WOULD RESTORE LIFE TO YOU.

"And you would allow this?"

Death suddenly gave off an aura of discomfort. NOT NORMALLY, BUT THERE ARE…SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES.

Slade thought. From the sounds of things, he would be involved in the end of the world. This was bad. But he was already dead. But Rose and Joseph weren't. But he would be hastening their destruction. Not necessarily. This demon was _going_ to arrive, according to Death, but his victory was far from assured. If he stayed out of it, he had no chance to change anything. If he entered into this deal, then maybe, just maybe, he could find out a way to defeat this threat from within. If not- well, what did he have to lose?

"I accept."

Death nodded, as if he had expected that response, and had heard Slade's internal debate, and it occurred to Slade that he probably had. VERY WELL, BUT ONE MOMENT WITH MY CLIENT PLEASE, TRIGON. Slade felt the prescence dissipate. Death fished around in his robes for a moment, and then produced a gold ring, nothing more than a simple band. I HAVE A FEELING I KNOW WHAT YOU PLAN TO DO, AND WHILE IT IS A COMMENDABLE PLAN, YOU WILL NEED ASSISTANCE. TAKE THIS.

Slade took the ring, and stared at it. "What does it do?"

WHEN I MET THE HIGH PRIESTESS AZAR, AN ANCIENT ENEMY OF TRIGON, SHE ENTRUSTED ME WITH HER RING. IT HAS POWERFUL PROTECTIVE POWERS. YOU WILL NEED THEM. WITHOUT IT, TRIGON COULD DESTROY YOU WITH A THOUGHT.

Slade slipped it onto his finger, beneath his glove.

HE IS READY, TRIGON.

Slade felt the plain dissolve around him, or perhaps it was him that was becoming insubstantial, he couldn't tell. Either way, he quickly found himself standing on a podium of rock, in a fiery cave. Tongues of flame danced around him, casting strange and eldritch patterns on the walls. Slade, however, was quickly distracted by the appearance of four points of light on the wall, and the most intense, _burning_ pain he had ever experienced. It was like a fire had been set in his flesh, but his clothes remained unharmed. After a few endless moments, he felt his face. Or tried to. There was no tactile sensation at all. Horrified, he ripped off one of his gloves, and stared in shock at his skeletal appearance.

"_The price of power."_

Slade looked around for the source of the booming voice, but there was none. "Trigon, I presume?"

"_Indeed."_

"For what do you require my services?"

"_I need you to convince my daughter of her destiny."_

"Your daughter?"

"_You know her as Raven, and this knowledge of her is one of the reasons I saved you."_

"I was convenient?"

"_Yes."_

"When do you require me to play messenger boy?"

"_The instant she turns sixteen."_

"What would you have me do until then? That's over a year away."

"_You shall be trained in your new power."_

"Power?" Slade suddenly felt a rush of heat again, but dully, as he was no more than a skeleton. He felt fire coursing deep within him, replacing his marrow, welling up behind his eye sockets, a fire so fierce and intense it nearly maddened him.

It felt good.


End file.
